


America's Cove

by oflittleuse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fishermen, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canada, F/F, Lobster Fishermen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder Mystery, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7868611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oflittleuse/pseuds/oflittleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The small village of America's Cove is turned upside down after the arrival of a mysterious drifter.</p>
<p>~ or what would happen if Steve Rogers was a fisherman living in a small Nova Scotian fishing village AU ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Winter storms blew in from the icy Atlantic with a regular ferocity and slammed into the tiny community of America’s Cove. Northern gales wiping around wood shingled homes, blasting them with ice and snow. Waves crashing over breakwaters and fishermen gathered around their radios waiting for the latest Environment Canada broadcast to see if the ocean swells would be too large to sail out that day. Everyday that the Atlantic battered the community into submission, they could feel the wallets tightening, as thousands of dollars of lobster were lost to them. 

The gloomy, cloud-covered November was the last breath of calm before those storms would roll in. Hurricane season had ended with the last bit of warmth that October offered. It was three weeks before it was setting day. The last few weeks were a busy time to finish doing any fixing around the house that was needed or to mend and check on the traps. 

Steve Rogers was not at home working on his traps or puttering around his house. Instead he was nestled between his best friends Peggy Carter and Sam Wilson on a cheap red corner booth. The one and only café in America’s Cove was named Sweet, Savoury and Rich and affectionately called the SSR by the locals. Normally each tiny booth would be filled with locals and aflutter with activity, but not today. Today the door was locked and a small, handwritten sign was taped to the door explaining:

“Closed today for the funeral.”

The next town hall meeting would be hell for Peggy and her girlfriend Angie, the owners of the SSR, but Peggy had just stared down Sam when he attempted to protest. 

In the booth, Steve fidgeted under the black material of his rented suit. Sam poured another shot of whiskey for them and Steve took the shot glass without a fuss. 

“To Riley,” Sam said solemnly, raising his glass in a half salute before swallowing it down. Steve vaguely wondered if he should be worried that the shots were starting to go down as smooth as water as he followed Sam’s lead. 

“Okay, I have the carbs ready for us,” Angie said, plopping down beside Sam and placing a large tray of breads, cheeses, dip and desserts in front of them. “Come on now. Carb it up.” 

Sam poured her two shots and passed them to her, before reaching for the bread. Angie raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“It took you a long time get food,” Peggy explained. 

“I was gone for five minutes, maybe,” Angie grunted, quickly downing the two shots with a grimace. 

“Riley loved your dip,” Sam said roughly. He held his dip covered bread as if it were the most treasured thing in the world. Steve tried to think of something to say, but his mind was stubbornly silent. So he reached out with one hand and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I remember him asking me for the recipe,” Angie said, smiling softly. “Told him it was a trade secret. One time I found him rooting through the kitchen trying to find it written down somewhere.”

“Remember the time Riley convinced us to try to sneak onto the commercial docks in the city,” Peggy reminisced. 

“I’m just happy we got off with a warning,” Steve said. “I would have hated trying to explain that to my mom.” 

“To be fair, it looks so easy on television,” Peggy said, smiling at the memory of their teenage selves caught trying to climb the chain link fence. “People just walk around commercial docks all the time on shows. And I don’t think Riley thought we would get caught or that your pants would rip trying to climb down.”

Sam gave a weak laugh, that quickly turned into a choked off sob. As both Steve and Angie reached to comfort him, he shook them off and scooted off the booth. Almost forcing Angie to fall onto the floor. 

“Sorry, just need air,” Sam muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he made a beeline out the backdoor. 

Once he was gone, Peggy turned her piercing, no-bullshit eyes on Steve, and asked, “How do you think he’s doing?” 

Two weeks ago, Sam and Riley had been the most inspiring couple Steve knew. In a small village like America’s Cove, being out was fine, but the chances of finding someone else that you were attracted to and was also out was so rare that it was more likely to be struck by lightening twice. Steve had come to accept his state of perpetual singlehood. But there was Sam, in his Coast Guard glory, becoming a leader of their community with his calm and trusting persona, and Riley, who could make anyone laugh and loved helping out, doing odd errands around town off-season. They had seemed to balance each other out in ways that Steve could only dream of one day finding. 

Then a week ago, out on a hike, climbing the same bluffs that Sam and Steve used to as kids, Riley lost his footing. It was a stupid way to go, Steve thought, Riley must have climbed that exact trail hundreds of times. It was not a route giving out to tourists, and definitely not for the inexperienced, but one wrong move and Riley fell. Sam still had not mentioned anything about that day. Not about watching him fall, not about trying to get down to him only to realise he had gone over the edge into the crushing waves below, not about the twenty minutes it took Sam to get back into town, not about being out on the Coast Guard boat that pulled Riley’s body from the rocks, and he had not said a single word about the boat ride back to shore. Steve lost his man for the lobster season and one of his best friends. Sam lost the love of his life. 

And Peggy wanted to know how Sam was doing. 

“He’ll survive,” Steve said at last, quickly pouring another shot of whiskey. 

 

 

Steve lived in the same house his mother had raised him in. She had passed away ten years ago from cancer and the whole village had rallied behind him so that he could keep the house his great-grandpa had built back when the Rogers family had first moved to the area. The same way they had rallied behind him to help keep his Grandpa Rogers’ boat. Their generosity had kept Steve tethered to the community, trying to pay back their kindness by helping out around the village. 

Two weeks until the season would start and between the funeral and trying to be available at all hours of the day for Sam, he was very far behind checking his traps. He pulled up his trailer and started to check each trap. Once he was happy that they were ready to be dropped in the ocean he hauled them onto the trailer to eventually be brought down to his boat. 

“Rogers,” a voice called out. Steve couldn’t help the involuntary groan, which left him. Heaving another trap onto the trailer, he turned to greet Nick Fury. Owner and operator of the only bar and hotel in America’s Cove, Fury was the keeper of all town secrets. He was an ageless figure who looked the exact same today as he had when Steve was a child. 

“Fury,” Steve turned to greet him. 

“Thought I would have seen you down in the bar looking for help,” Fury said. “Not too long before the season opens.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, resisting the urge to fidget. Fury had a way of talking that made Steve feel like a kid caught with one hand in the cookie jar. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know two people who might work,” Fury did not hesitate to jump straight to the matter at hand. “May Parker’s nephew is one.”

“Jeez, the kid?” Steve asked. Peter Parker, to Steve, would always be the little boy running around the wharf and wanting to be a marine biologist. “He’s old enough to be working the season?”

“Turned eighteen this past May. You were younger when you started out,” Fury pointed out. “If not him, I have a man at the hotel who is looking for work. Not real talkative, but if you’re looking I can send him around.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “you can send him around.”

He tried to ignore the flash of pain. It was not that he was putting Riley in the past, but Steve knew he couldn’t afford to sit out the season. He needed to find help soon. The fact that Fury knew anyone still available to help was a miracle in itself this close the opening day. 

“I will send him your way this afternoon then,” Fury announced. With a slight nod, he continued walking down the road. 

By that afternoon, two hundred traps checked and onto the final hundred, Steve did not hear the man approach. His trailer was full of the first load of traps. He was bent over when a cough came from right behind him. Jumping up and spinning around, he saw a man, around his age, standing by the garage door. Long hair, scruff and dressed in black, he lingered awkwardly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“Fury sent you?” Steve asked, though it was a bit ridiculous to ask. A village the size of America’s Cove and it was pretty obvious to spot the new person. 

“Yes,” the man replied, the word pushed out forcefully as if he was only allowed so many a day and he didn’t want to use up his quota. Fury had not been lying. The man was not talkative. 

“You have a name?” Steve asked. 

“Bucky,” he replied. 

“Okay, Bucky, you ever work a lobster season?” 

“Yes. District 26a.”

District 26a was a busy lobster fishing district taking up the northwest coast of Nova Scotia and eastern tip of Prince Edward Island. Their season started with the warm spring sun of May and went through the summer months.

“This will be a bit different,” Steve warned. “We go out in December, probably can’t give you Christmas off, and the ocean’s a bit rough. Rougher than you would be used to.” 

“I can handle it,” Bucky said. 

Steve couldn’t help but give him a once-over. It was hard to tell with the loose, shapeless layers of black and dark clothing, but he seemed like a fit guy. Solid stance and back ramrod straight, he gave the impression of power. 

“Okay,” Steve walked over to him and offered his hand. The handshake was quick and efficient, like how the man talked. “Welcome to the team.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha returns and murder happens.

The day before setting day was a mixed ball of tight emotions. 

Every radio was on, and on each hour and each quarter past a hush would fall over the village, as they would listen to the weather forecast. 

Steve spent the day before at the SSR. Peggy would make the best apple pie in all of Nova Scotia, and he could work on responding to his emails on the café’s free Wi-Fi. Despite lots of teasing and picking from his friends, he had never gotten around to connecting the house to the internet. 

__**From:** bbanner@dal.ca  
**To:** steverogers@eastlink.ca  
**Subject:** Lobster Tagging Project

Mr Rogers, 

My name is Dr. Bruce Banner and I got your contact information from a mutual friend of ours, Tony Stark. I am a professor of Marine Biology at Dalhousie University and I am looking into the migration of lobster along the Nova Scotian coastline. If possible, I would appreciate joining your crew several times this winter. Any lobsters that need to be tossed back in would be geo-tagged for further study. I look forward to hearing from you. 

Thank you for your time. 

All the best,  
Dr. Bruce Banner 

Steve rubbed his eyes and took a long sip of coffee, draining his cup. Normally he would be more than happy to take someone on the boat, but the with new help and the loss of Riley still a fresh wound, he couldn’t help but think this wasn’t the best time. Plus, if this Dr. Banner was a friend of Tony Stark, the eccentric owner of Stark Fisheries, then it was doubtful he had any business out on the ocean. 

“Refill, gorgeous?” Angie asked as she went ahead and filled up his empty mug. 

“Thanks.”

“Met your new man,” Angie said as she plopped down across from him. “He seems nice – in a grungy, stoic, homeless kind of way.” 

“As long as he can do the work. It’s all I really care about right now,” Steve responded. He hesitated to hit reply to the email. Maybe, if he didn’t respond he could pretend he never got it. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Angie sighed. “That man might have a sad cat face but he is ripped. If I weren’t a taken woman I would tap that.” 

“Don’t say that near Peggy, I need Bucky alive if he is going to work for me,” Steve smirked. 

“Weather announcement coming up,” Brock, the resident asshole of America’s Cove, yelled from the other side of the café. His crew was gathered around one of the tables and glared at anyone who dared talk during the weather announcements. 

Peggy rolled her eyes, but turned up the volume regardless. 

“And how’s the weather looking Phil?” John MacDonald, a retired CBC broadcaster who now worked the local radio channel, said. 

“We’ll get happy fishermen today. According to all reports it should be a pretty clear day. Expect clouds all morning and a bit of precipitation and flurries to see the start of the season, but it should all be cleared up by the time we got everyone back to shore. High is a balmy 8 degrees,” Phil Coulson announced, sounding exactly like he had back when he taught Steve geography and history in high school. “Light south-east winds.”

Peggy turned the radio back down as Brock and his men high fived at their table. Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Well, back to work, hot stuff,” Angie said, standing up again. 

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” someone said from behind them. “I really do have the worst timing.” 

The voice was unmistakeable and with a grin, Steve quickly slid out of his booth and turned around. Natasha Romanov stood in jeans and a sweatshirt and still somehow looked much too classy and pulled together for the SSR. It had been two years since he had last seen her; she had been home for the summer and about to finish the last year of her Masters program at the University of Toronto. 

“I thought the city had swallowed you up,” Steve teased, wrapping her in a big hug. 

“I managed to find my way out,” she said wryly. “I have my ways.”

“Natasha!” Angie yelled, pulling Steve away so she could hug Natasha next. 

The commotion had brought over Peggy who gave Natasha a peck on the cheek since Angie still hadn’t let go. With a hurried wave of her hand towards the line at the till, Peggy said, “Have to get back to work. But you should have told us you were coming. We could have sent Steve to pick you up from the airport.”

Angie gave one more hug before following her girlfriend behind the counter. 

“I wanted to make it for the funeral, but this was the earliest I could get a flight,” Natasha said, sliding into Steve’s booth and stealing his mug of coffee. “Just came from Sam’s on my way to Fury’s, thought I would stop by.”

“How’s he doing?” Steve asked. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

“He answered the door in his boxers and smelled like he had the NSLC on speed dial,” she answered him harshly and honestly. “But the season is starting and you don’t have time to worry about that. You focus on what you have to do. I’m here now. I can look after Sam.” 

“What about work?” 

“Well, in the future we have this thing called internet and it allows me to work from anywhere,” Natasha teased, smirking a bit before it softened. “I want to do this Steve. Please tell me that you have hired someone for the season.” 

“I did,” Steve said. “You’re dad helped me.”

“You sure that’s wise Steve?” Natasha asked. Natasha and Fury had an odd and complicated relationship. Natasha had shown up two years behind Steve in school when Steve had been in grade six and she in grade four. She had been unable to speak a word of English and had been adopted, somehow, by Fury. No one had any idea where she came from or how Fury managed to convince anyone that he was father material. 

“He seems okay,” Steve said, thinking of Bucky in his layers of clothing and stoic appearance. “A bit quiet.”

There must have been a hint of hesitation in his voice because Natasha perked her head to the side. A deadly sign Steve remembered from childhood. 

“What did his references say?” She asked. 

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask for any,” Steve responded. And there it was, the infamous black widow glare that could kill a man from a hundred feet away. Using her distraction he stole back his coffee. 

“Please tell me you got a resume,” she didn’t even ask it. It was a statement. She might have been in Toronto for the past couple of years, but she remembered how things worked in America’s Cove. 

“That’s for city folks,” Steve complained. “I’m sure he’s fine. He had an efficient handshake.” 

“What does that even mean?” Natasha asked, exasperatedly. “You know nothing about this guy and you are about to go out on the ocean with him, tomorrow. Peggy was okay with this?” 

“Peggy has been busy,” Steve said, sending a panicked look towards the brunette serving a fresh, homemade scone with a sweet smile. A shiver of terror went down his spine. “Listen, I don’t have a choice. I can’t _not_ work for a year and Bucky was the only option. You’re dad vouched for him. So he will have to do.” 

“He could murder you.”

“Please, like murder happens in America’s Cove.”

 

A middle-aged man ran through the woods as the flurries of snow started to filter through the bare branches of the trees above. The forest floor was a slippery slope of rotten leaves and mud. As he ran, his grey hair a streak in the forest, he wished he hadn’t left his phone at the hotel room he had been staying in. 

He stopped behind a rock outcropping to catch his breath and listen. 

People had always told him the job would kill him, but he had always figured that was because of how he let it take over his life. Never in a million years did he think it would lead to this. Here. 

With a madman with a gun chasing him through the wilds of Nova Scotia. He had grown up in the suburbs of Boston for goodness sake. What were the chances he would even end up in Canada? 

A rustle of leaves alerted him that the man was close by. There were two options. Uphill lead to the ocean bluffs and, for a crazy moment, all he could think was that he didn’t want to make it easy to dispose of his body. The other option was down in the valley. 

In a fit of adrenaline he took off towards the valley. 

He never heard the gunshot and he barely felt the sting of the bullet. 

Dr. Erik Selvig was dead by the time he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *NSLC stands for the Nova Scotia Liquor Corporation. It is where you buy booze. 
> 
> I would also like to apologize to Eric Selvig for making him a red shirt. You're death was not in vain. 
> 
> In case you missed it, tags will be updated as the story progresses. This has been a bit delayed due to the fact that I have been driving across country and getting a new job and ~ life.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually like to only post when I am finished a story but ... I really wanted to go ahead and post this one. Of course the whole time writing this, all I can think is that Bucky is Steve's lobster (à la Friends mode). Slightly depressing start, but there is actually quite a bit of plot ahead. 
> 
> Unbeta'd and all faults are my own.


End file.
